coming with the spring
by finaljoy
Summary: Natasha had come to Chicago for the homicidal robots, but fate seemed to be telling her that running into, and then helping the Winter Soldier was her main objective.
1. chapter one

_AN This was a lovely piece that I did with the help of **qualapec,**__who gave me the starter for this mess. It was supposed to be a short, sweet little thing, but I'm absolutely not surprised it became so big. It has been **months** since Cap 2 came out, and yet this is the first fic I'm writing/publishing. How could my emotions **not** burst forth?_

_Rating: High T for language and allusions to/brief descriptions of gore._

* * *

Natasha was flying for a brief, incredible moment. She was sailing through the battlefield – gold tinted bots crashing and snapping, the city burning around her. It reminded her of riding a Chitauri flyer across Manhattan, but she was less controlled this time, less sure as she gripped the back of a robot who was programmed and given purpose by a very angry, very omnicidal A.I.

The nav systems were probably damaged, because it was getting closer to the buildings every time they zoomed by one, and Natasha was trying to log as much data as she could and send it back to Avengers Tower before they crashed and she maybe-maybe-not was able to walk away from it.

It happened. The bot clipped a building, and Natasha was in air. Flying, turned on her head, and with no sure destination. She launched her grapple hook, and hoped it hit something solid. It did, but she swung wildly, hit the side of a building before the cord snapped.

Everything went black after that.

When she returned to consciousness, the sound of battle felt far away. She noted that her wounds had been field-dressed with fresh bandages, her injured ankle had been splinted.

"Well," she started, wincing in pain, "not my most graceful moment."

She opened her eyes, and the Winter Soldier was staring her down.

His hair was pulled away from his face in a loose ponytail, he didn't have the same worn-out, faraway look he'd had when she'd last seen him. This Winter Soldier was less living dead and closer to life, including all the pain that came with it.

He was also holding a gun to her, so there was that.

"I need your help," he said, and she noticed the long, bloody rod sticking in his side, just below his right lung, and how pale and sweat-drenched his face was. She also saw his metal arm was detached and laying limp at his side – the bots must have been picking up on the computers inside connecting to his nerves.

"Needs two hands."

Natasha chuckled, let her head fall back against the wall of the gutted out apartment they were hiding in. "Put the gun down, soldier, and we'll talk about it."

He stared her down, and she could see him weighing his options.

"Look," Natasha said, through a wave of pain. "These sorts of things go two ways. You patched me up, and I'm grateful, but you need my help, and I'm going to need you to put the gun down before I do that." Her eyes darted down to the rod in his side. "Besides, I'm going to need a third hand to get that out of you, and if you're pointing a gun at me, you'll fire it whether you want to or not. So, deal?"

Slowly, carefully, the Winter Soldier put the gun down.

"And slide it over?"

"Not on a first date, Black Widow," he replied, smiling, before squeezing his eyes shut. "Now, please. I'm bleeding out."

Natasha straightened, unable to resist a hiss as she gasped through her teeth.

"So, where are we?" she asked, trying to examine his wound in the half light. The Winter Soldier opened his eyes just enough to give her a flat look that said '_You've got a broken ankle, my arm's shot to hell and back, and, golly, there's a giant pipe in my chest, and you're making small talk'_, then spat out "I dunno. Some place in a ghetto. Didn't have many options."

She nodded, squinting. She reached for the knife she had strapped to her thigh, then realized that he had most likely removed it and all of her other weapons.

"Where's my knife? I need to cut away your shirt," she said, interrupting his wary expression before it had time to fully form. The Winter Soldier didn't say anything, just reached out behind him and tossed the knife at her. At this point, her sinking the blade into his throat or heart would only be a mercy.

Natasha didn't say anything as she worked. She cleared away the fabric from around the wound, checked the pipe to make sure it hadn't run clean through him, and prepped some of the rapid acting bandages she had by opening them and laying them on his chest. She wouldn't have time to fiddle around with them once the pipe was out of the way and the wound was allowed to bleed freely.

"Alright, Soldier, here comes the fun bit. Here, bite this." She held out a tightly wound wad of his shirt that hadn't been spoiled by blood or what she guessed was oil. He gave it a wary look, then carefully set it between his teeth so he wouldn't do something like break his teeth or bite his tongue off when she pulled the pipe out.

"By the way, you don't weigh less than two hundred pounds, right?"

"_Wha_?"

"I'm just trying to keep your heart from stopping when I inject you with this," she said, ignoring just how pale his lips were turning as she swiftly opened a hidden slot on her belt. Natasha pulled out a hypodermic needle and turned towards him. He tried to jerk back and catch her arm, but the pain in his side prevented him from doing much more than a strange combination between a flinch and a flail. Natasha gave him a remorseless smile as she sank the needle into his thigh. The asshole had shot her _twice,_ and had completely trashed her friend, her organization, and all of her hard work for the last few years, not to mention had caused all sort of havoc to her personally. He could sweat under the idea of having some unknown chemical racing through him.

"Okay, now grab hold of this," she said, guiding his hand to the pipe. From the way he was baring his teeth, reaching up just a little bit farther and throttling her wasn't that distant a possibility. She just gave him a flat smile, made sure his hand had a firm grip, then pulled the pipe out of his chest.

He gasped around the fabric between his teeth, body arching from the pain. Natasha grabbed the remnants of his shirt and used that to staunch the bleeding, as well as an old sheet that was nearby (he was a World War II vet, as well as kind of a super soldier. He could handle a little dirt in his wounds). The Winter Soldier spat out the fabric as she pressed his hand against the wound to apply pressure, then finished opening the bandages. She then knocked his hands aside, and pressed the bandages into place.

"What the hell are those going to do," he snarled, making her give a tight grin.

"These are special. You know those band aids that can stop bleeding almost instantly?"

He gave a blank, if deeply disgruntled by pain, stare, and she suppressed a sigh.

"Well, these are like those, but ten times better. They stop the bleeding, they heal you faster, plus they have a bit of pain killer in the mix. God bless technology."

"Thanks," he grunted, then said "You wanna explain what you just injected me with?"

"That was pain killer. You'll thank me in a bit."

Now that he was out of the imminent danger of falling dead at her feet, Natasha administered the pain killer to herself. The needles were a relatively new addition to her belt. Each needle had actually had a separate dose of pain killer. One was measured out for her, and the other was for Clint (the science guy kitting her out with the needles was one of the hopeful ones, saying that she would thank him when he showed back up and went on a mission with her). Thankfully, there wasn't too much of a disparity between him and the Winter Soldier in the physical sense, so the pain killer would kick in as estimated.

"What now?" Natasha asked, casting the needle aside. She glanced out of the blown out window, then grimaced. The noise had died down somewhat, but there was now the tang of smoke in the air, though from rioters or the actual fight, she didn't know.

This had all gone hilariously wrong. Natasha had been dispatched with a group of SHIELD agents to sort out a problem with one or two vaguely hostile robots. Then the one or two robots turned out to be fifteen or twenty, and a mission that promised to be moderately dangerous turned out to be frankly lethal. She and her team hadn't been at all prepared, causing them to take bigger risks to try to clean up the mess as fast as possible. Hence, her midair adventure.

_I wish Stark could come clean up this mess. Crazy robots are his area of expertise,_ she thought sourly, then focused on the Soldier, who seemed to be preparing himself for a response.

"We need to get out of here. Those robots locked onto me while I was picking you up, and the sons of bitches are out for blood."

"Do you know why they targeted you?"

"I was a threat," he said, tilting his head in way of shrug. "Or, at least, I was helping a threat. Close enough, either way."

Natasha stared at him, expression measured.

"And why did you help me, anyways? Last time we met, you tried to blow me up." At her words, he shrugged and looked away. If she had to put a name to it, Natasha would have said that he was..._embarrassed._

"I recognized you. And when you don't really recognize anything...a bit of familiarity is something you want to keep hold of."

"Out of everything, you wanted to keep me alive, just because you _recognized _me?"

"You know Captain America," he said. His words were deliberate, like he was trying very hard not to reveal too much. Natasha felt like her soul was sighing in relief. So that's where they stood. That's what he remembered. It wasn't much, and it was something she could deal with. There was no reason for her to feel a little bit...disappointed.

"And you want to find him," she finished. The Winter Soldier's expression didn't change, but she had the strangest feeling that he was opening up, all of his uncertainty and selfish desire pouring into her lap. Natasha swallowed, closing herself up and not allowing his emotions to touch hers. They had more or less ended that a long time ago, and she wasn't really the type to indulge in a relapse.

Natasha clenched her teeth. Apprehension didn't suit him, and whatever _this_ was didn't suit her.

"Why don't we focus on getting out of here alive, first, then we can focus on...that. Okay?"

He nodded, and instantly he was the Soldier again. Despite the sweat still coating his skin, and the sickly pallor, he was all ice and efficiency. This she could use.

"What assets do you have?"

"Me," he said, a thin smile on his face. "A knife. A few bills. Can't buy jack shit with them, though."

"Why not?"

"Everything's fucking _expensive,_ is why."

_Right,_ Natasha reminded herself, forcing herself not to heave a sigh and roll her eyeballs out of her head. _He's from the Depression era. Ten bucks made you a millionaire back then._

"Okay. I've got all of the weapons you already stripped off, a few band aids...and it's us against a horde of angry robots."

"You want to try taking them down?" he asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, yes_._ They're attacking _Chicago. _I know it's not New York or DC, but hell, it's kind of important. And they're after _something._ I don't want a bunch of relatively sentient and homicidal robots to get a hold of what they want. Generally, that ends in strong robots and no people."

"I'm not doing it. Chicago's important, yeah, but we're shot to hell and back, and we have no weapons. You couldn't take care of it with a whole _team. _Store the hero complex for a few seconds before we're ass up in a ditch."

Natasha took exactly four seconds to appreciate how rare a treat it was to be accused of having a _hero complex_, then sat back on her heels.

"We were ill prepared, and we had just gotten there. If I just go back, and if you help—" Natasha cut herself off when she saw his expression. "Fine. Fine. What do _you_ want to do, then, Soldier?"

"Get out of here. Recover in a proper shelter. Figure out what the robots are there for, if it's so important. Stop calling me 'Soldier'."

"But you—"

"I'm not a soldier. Not any more."

Natasha let that sleeping dog lie.

"...Fine. Then what can I call you?" For some reason, Natasha felt her breath catch, just a bit. She had done this before, so long ago, and she wasn't quite sure she wanted to repeat it. Names gave importance, and she didn't want another time bomb given importance and then strapped to her back.

His expression was flat as he examined her. After a small pause, he said "James."

Natasha exhaled, forcing it to sound normal. Same as last time. Different words, different manner, but the exact same name. She couldn't help but wonder if that meant the person that went with it would be anything like the last version of James.

Curious, though. He had introduced himself as James, and not Bucky. She would have thought that after the emphasis that Steve had put on it, he would have migrated towards the name and the person it implied. But then, he also might not want to _be_ Bucky anymore, either.

"Natasha," she said, gritting out a smile. "So, first thing, get out of here. Where exactly do you want to _go_?"

"I have a place. It's safe."

"Safe for _you_, safe for _us, _or safe from the _robots_?" she asked, unable to repress a disbelieving look. In her learned opinion, him _looking_ like a hobo meant he was _living_ like a hobo.

"Safe enough," he said, giving her a look. 'Plus it's more comfortable than this shit hole."

Natasha quirked a smile in agreement, conceding that she didn't have much better. James tried to stand up, but a grimace and a renewal of the sweat on his forehead made her press her hand on his shoulder.

Natasha carefully worked her way to her feet, leaning against the wall to make up for her injured ankle. She offered him a hand, and after a few long, strained moments, they were both upright.

"So how do we get to this place," she asked, carefully leaning over to pick up his arm and anything else of value. She felt his eyes burning into her every second she had hold of his arm, which promptly disappeared when she gave it back.

"There's no way we can walk more than a block, the state we're in."

"You know how to hot wire a car, Natasha?" James' expression was ironic and more than a little bit amused. Natasha cracked a wide smile, and asked "Truck or compact?"


	2. chapter two

_AN Thank you for the lovely response this got! I'm just so excited to share this with everyone, you don't even understand._

_I adore the banter between Bucky and Natasha. It's not quite full force snarking, but there's a lot of them feeling each other out, trying to figure what the other is about, and how they do things. Bucky is just a challenge in general, because I want bits of old him to come out amidst the haze of everything he remembers._

* * *

Twenty minutes and a bit of muffled swearing later, they were sitting in a small black SUV, and were casually cruising down the road. The only real snag was that, because she had injured her right leg, Natasha had to cross her left leg over to operate the pedals. Overall, it worked pretty well, even if her speed was a little erratic, and she hadn't quite mastered _easing_ to a stop, but it was stick, and they both agreed that it was too dangerous for James to reattach his arm.

Her suit had helped protect her from the worst of the cold, but her fingers had shaken the entire time she worked to hotwire the car. On top of that, her face was numb, and she was _pretty _sure some of her snot had frozen inside of her nose.

_There goes all that training in Siberia, _she thought to herself, flicking the heater to high. James didn't say anything, but she could tell he appreciated the warmth. He was even worse off than her, as he didn't have much more than two layered shirts, jeans, boots, and a jacket, all of which had seen better days. But then, he also knew how to be cold. He had, more or less, had the same training as her.

"So, _James,_" she began, pulling onto the main road at his direction, "why Chicago?"

"What?"

He looked at her, seeming to have been lost in his own line of thoughts. He grimaced as he focused on her, shifting to move the seat belt from off of his side. She didn't comment.

"Why'd you come to Chicago, of all places? It's hundreds of miles from DC, you've got no money to buy a pizza, and from the looks of you, you've been drifting ever since you got out. Why not New York where you grew up, why not out of the country? Why _Chicago_?"

It was tempting to mention Steve in the mix, but from what she had been told, James hadn't taken too kindly to having lost memories shoved onto him. She didn't know where he stood now, months later, but she wasn't sure she wanted to push while injured and in a very enclosed space with him.

He looked at her, expression blank, if a little confused.

"You mean, you _don't _go to cities with shitty weather with hardly any supplies in early spring? That's not a national past time anymore?"

Natasha had to stare at him for a moment before she realized he was being sarcastic. Humor was the last thing she expected from a PTSD riddled, formerly brainwashed, 95 year old homeless person.

There was a beat of silence, in which she was _sure_ James smirked to himself. Then he spoke, frowning at one of the towers in the skyline.

"I was looking for someone?" he told the windshield, cocking his head as if contemplating his own comment. She ignored the fact that it sounded like a question.

"Steve?"

"No."

Natasha waited, suppressing a grimace as she stopped at a red light. She shifted her leg, trying to find a position that didn't cut off the circulation, but also didn't aggravate her ankle more than necessary. She was starting to regret the decision not to abandon the car after seeing it was a stick, because she would have _much_ preferred the slush, black ice, and aggressive drivers be James' problem. Then again, maybe that _wasn't_ what she wanted.

"I was...looking for someone who...knew more about me. After I...after HYDRA, I needed to know what was real. I found out about the exhibit in DC, noticed one name used as a source more often than others, and tracked him down here in Chicago."

"How long did that take?" she asked, turning onto a road that was covered by the tracks of the L train. Thankfully, it had also deflected most of the snow from the road, which allowed Natasha to focus less on the slush and black ice, and more on the conversation. "Getting a plan, I mean."

"About two weeks. It took me a while to hear about and then find the exhibit, and then I didn't want to stick out by coming to the museum too often. Plus I had to find a place to stay and somewhere to sleep."

"And how long for you to get here?"

"A long time. Didn't come straight here. I figured out pretty quick that people wanted to help an armless guy more than a normal one, so a sad handicap I became."

There was something dark in his voice, something she didn't really have the concentration to place. She just wanted to find his secret base and rest for a few seconds, before having to launch back into the fray.

"Why are _you_ here?" he asked, catching her by surprise. He watched a police blockade go by, completely uninterested. James may have been the one that saved and then leveled a gun at her, but he didn't seem too interested in asserting his dominance. If anything, he looked to be along for the ride.

"I was leading a small team to take out the drones. Like I said earlier, we had bad intel, and were in for a long fight, ugly fight. Side effect of not really having a mighty organization to back you up.:"

James didn't respond to the casual allusion to his part in destroying SHIELD. He did not offer up an apology, and she didn't ask for one. He had _hardly_ been the one pulling the strings then.

"Take the next left," he murmured, but she immediately took a right and ended up in the parking lot of a strip mall.

"The hell are you doing?" he asked, stiffening beside her. He shot her a hard look, then glanced out the back window, as if to search for a tail.

"As eager as I am to get to proper shelter, there is one thing I need to do first."

He stared at her, and she suddenly understood what open hostility and mistrust from the Winter Soldier looked like. What she had been dealing with before was a mild, almost customary sort of mistrust.

This was uncertain and reproachful and borderline lethal. Natasha shook it off, though, or at least pretended not to notice as she shrugged and nodded towards the second hand store just down from where they were parked.

"I need clothes. At least, something that _doesn't _make me look like a secret agent."

James sized her up for a moment, then gave a wary nod. Natasha felt her stomach unclench, not having realized it had tightened in the first place.

"So," she said, turning off the car, "just how much money do you have?"

"What?"

"How much money do you have? You didn't tell me before, and I don't exactly pack a wallet around with me on missions. Also, I need your clothes."

James expression was, somehow, very unamused.

"Why can't I go in?"

"Because you don't know my size, and one of us needs to go buy some clothes." James gave her a long look, and gave an annoyed sigh through his nose.

"So you just want me to sit here, naked in the car until then?"

"The windows are _tinted," _she said, quietly chuckling to herself. The Winter Soldier was much less terrifying when he had a person inside. He wasn't the James she had known once, but he was certainly amusing. She had to pointedly smother the urge to not rib him further.

He gave her an unhappy look, then got out of the car. A beat later, the side door opened, and he clambered into the back seat. Natasha smiled in triumph, then got out of the front seat as well. James' disgruntled look and noise was priceless as she climbed in beside him and closed the door. He didn't say anything, though. He just turned back to his work and threw his pants at her head.

It took some undignified wiggling, but Natasha worked her way out of her suit. She tossed it in the back of the car, then put on James' discarded clothes. He also handed over what little money he had, which was considerable enough to fully supply her with a new outfit, and still have some left over.

"I'll be quick," she promised, turning up the collar on his shirt to block at least a little of the wind. He nodded in response, gritting his teeth at the cold air that was rushing in. He was already turning the heater up before she even closed the door.

Natasha hurried into the second hand store, instantly scanning for something she could use. She also looked for something for James, because now that she was actually wearing his clothes, it was blatantly obvious that they were not enough for spring in Chicago.

Forcing herself not to make some mental joke about him and winter, she ran her fingers along the rack sporting heavier clothing. She grabbed a green flannel shirt that wasn't overly thread bare, then grabbed a similar one in dark blue. Natasha got a couple undershirts, pants, gloves, two durable coats, a package of exceptionally thick socks that had yet to be opened, and a knit hat.

The cashier looked sweet and completely uninterested in her job, trying to make earnest small talk in the minute or so it took for her to ring up Natasha's purchase. Natasha found it fairly annoying, and wondered why on earth the cashier was feeling so chatty, then she remembered that, ah yes, she had a fair amount of scratches and bruising on her face. The woman probably thought she was some sort of abuse victim.

Natasha gave a polite smile, to show that everything was fine and that the cashier did not need to ask if she needed help, then hurried back out to the car. She walked faster as snow started falling, resisting the urge to tug James' shirt around her a little tighter around her. A part of her worried the car might be gone, James having decided that she was absolutely not worth the trouble, but thankfully it was right where she had left it.

Natasha rapped on the window of the side door, which was shortly followed by the sound of the car unlocking. She pulled open the door, then threw the clothes at him.

"Move over," she said, then climbed in. James scooted to the other side of the car, cursing quietly as a couple of snowflakes fell on his leg, and again they went through the strange ceremony of changing side by side.

Natasha pulled on a long sleeve shirt, trying not to think about how the last time she had seen him naked, there hadn't been quite so many scars on his back. He hadn't been quite so silent, she not so cynical, the red star not so out of place. The last time they had met, not _seen _each other, not _fought _ each other, but actually_ met,_ they had been two dogs searching for a bit of solace in such a vicious, emotionally barren world. Look at what good that had done them.

Natasha slipped on her pants, and told her herself to focus on the important things. Having one person that couldn't remember the past, and one person that couldn't keep their head out of it was _not_ a good combination.

Natasha glanced at James as she buttoned up her flannel shirt. She checked his injury, and from what she could see, the bandage seemed to have done its job and stopped any bleeding. His movements were still stiff, though, implying that the pain killer wasn't working like it should have been. Had it already worn off due to his genetic alterations?

"Need help with those?" she asked, nodding at James' flannel shirt. He shook head head and pointedly hid the coat by zipping up his jacket, which had been a rather impressive find. It was one of those old, thick denim coats with plenty of stuffing between the layers, promising to keep him warm from the wind. It also had the added bonus of actually fitting around his barrel chest, which was always welcome. James' old coat seemed to sense its inefficiency, as it lay on the seat beside him, looking crumpled and sad.

"So," she began, tucking her hair up into the beanie, "where's this shelter? We gonna get there before dark?"

"No. But it's not far away."

Natasha sighed and glanced out at the sky. It was largely overcast, but she could tell the sun wasn't going to stay up for much longer.

"We'll be walking," he explained. Natasha didn't like it, but she nodded. The snow wasn't too heavy, and if they moved fast, then they would probably be able to get shelter before their fingers and toes started turning blue.

They rearmed themselves, and then got back out of the car (James' arm was wrapped in their extra clothing, and then placed in a bag Natasha had bought. She had felt strange, folding the arm up and stuffing it in, because it was very similar to how _normal_ arms bent when stuck into bags, but it actually stayed where she wanted it to). There was a napkin on the dash of the car, which said, '_Please call 911, I'm stolen!',_ which had earned an eyebrow raise from James. Yet again, she was turning out to be the softer of the two. Damn Rogers for rubbing off on her.

They kept their heads down as they walked towards the crosswalk. James didn't say anything as he lead her down the streets, but she didn't mind. They had things like injuries, killer robots, the cold, and their pasts to deal with. Silence was fine after such a long day.

"That scar on your hip, I did that, didn't I?"

Natasha turned to stare at him, heart suddenly jack hammering in her chest. Sure, she knew he was remembering things, but she had casually assumed anything about her before DC was a great big nothing. If he had remembered something, he would have alluded to it, right? He would have said something, or looked at her like she actually meant something or—or—or _something._

His expression wasn't the flat blankness she had become accustomed to. She would have called it troubled, but she was sure she knew better.

"Yes," she said, eyes forward. He turned his eyes to the ground to avoid stepping in a puddle, and didn't say anything for a moment.

"It's hazy, but I... do know some things. They _are_ there, they just... are very hard to reach."

She gave him a thin smile he couldn't see, and said "I'm not sure you want to reach them, James."

"No, I do," he said, voice mild. It was like they were discussing him going to a cafe, or picking up something from the post office the next day, and not him accessing horrible, painful memories.

"How...how am I supposed to know who I am, if I have no idea who I've been?"

"Very easily," she said, and it was a little shocking how grim her voice was. He gave a dark chuckle as he turned down a short alley. Natasha waited for him to say something more, but he seemed to be done with the topic. For now, at least. Natasha knew he had a whole slew of other questions that would invariably be answered.

"Why do you think the robots were attacking the city?" James asked, looking up at the sky. A few smoke trails from downtown could be seen, but they were faint. The city authorities had probably shown up by now, and were trying to control the damage.

"I don't know. They weren't attacking anything specific. It all seemed kind of random, like they were just...making a mess."

"Are they just trying to destroy the city, to wipe it out and start over?"

"I don't think so. There are better ways to do that, and the AI controlling those things, I could tell, it was _smart._ It had them adapt almost instantly when we arrived. It could have discovered a more efficient way to destroy the city."

James nodded, frowning as he thought. So he didn't _really_ disregard Chicago as much as he had first made out.

The alley ended with the back of an old restaurant, the kind that might have been well off a few years ago, but somewhere along the line had fallen apart. As they got closer, she noticed a small sign in the window stating that it was closed for refurbishment.

James paused in front of the doors, and fiddled with the padlock on a chain around the handles. A moment later, it popped open. Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"There's putty inside that keeps it from locking," he explained. James opened the door, allowing them both to slip inside. He redid the chains and lock from the inside, then shut the door. The inside of the restaurant was dingy and unimpressive, like the refurbishments had been going on for a very long time.

James led her to a back room, then shifted aside a tarp from the floor. There was all sorts of grime on the floor, but Natasha noticed that there was a vaguely clear trail leading to the trap door in the ground. The door looked old, which was reaffirmed by the worn bricks lining the tunnel it revealed. She guessed this was a leftover from the Prohibition Era.

"How convenient," she mused, then ducked in. James was beside her in a moment, casting them in a dirty gloom as the door closed. There were small patches of light scattered in the distance before them, serving as points of reference for depth, rather than a source of illumination.

James paused, pressing his hand to his side.

"How are you?" she asked, hoping that the magic bandages had prevented any more bleeding. After all of the moving they had just done, James was in danger of reopening his wounds.

"M'fine," he grunted, but took another moment before moving on.

As they started walking, Natasha pulled out her penlight. She cast it around the place, scanning the dimensions of the tunnel, noting a few rats and divots in the path.

"A homeless guy showed me this place," he said after a moment. "Called it a 'safe place'. No reception, no electricity, barely even plumbing. The robots won't find us."

"Good. Do they have food?"

"A little."

They were silent again, focusing on not tripping. Natasha had her eyes down almost the entire time, cursing her injured ankle. Navigating the brick path might have been a bit easier if she had full use of both her feet, but at least her injury meant she kept an even pace with James.

The sound of their breathing filled the tunnel. They heard the soft drip of water and the occasional skitter of a rat, which made the hairs stand up on the back of Natasha's neck. James' arm made a soft thumping sound against his back as they walked, completing a very strange, sad melody.

"I wanted to warn you," he said, breaking into the mournful sounds of the tunnel. Natasha allowed herself a glance in his direction, heart screaming into her mouth. She knew exactly what he was talking about. Apparently, his memories weren't _that _hazy, if he remembered this_. _How long had he remembered? The entire time, or were things just coming back to him, the longer she had been around? Both options were painful and too awful to think about.

She forced herself to breathe, not ready to delve into this, and yet, already resigned. A part of her was even_ eager_, because she wanted to stop worrying and thinking to much and trying to fill in all of the blanks he had left her. She didn't want to be operating in a vacuum anymore, with only her own thoughts and reasonings for him. She wanted to know _why, _wanted her questions answered from his own mouth, spoken while looking into her eyes.

"When they told me, I was going to warn you. I thought I had time before they sent the order. I didn't—" He grimaced, closing his eyes.

"I didn't think they would send me."

"Of course you did," she said, voice mild as she offered a tired smile. "You just didn't want it to be true. It's their way, to make us suffer for disobeying. Make it hurt so much that we never will do it again."

"But neither of us would remember to learn," he pointed out, voice black and ugly. "After they wiped me, they told me you had told our secrets, that you were a traitor. Really, you meant nothing more than any of the other assassinations."

Natasha took a long breath, because, alright, that had hurt.

"What they did, they did just to be cruel. And to be efficient. Who but the KGB's best could be sent to take out the KGB's best?"

She didn't say anything, because he was right. He typically was.

Natasha stiffened when she felt his fingers skate along the back of her hand. It was something he used to do, because anything more open would have had them killed. It was subtle, it was intimate, it was flaunting the fact that he did not care what the rules were about fraternization or having feelings of any kind, and it was something she had always loved.

"_Forgive me, darling. If not for me, you wouldn't be here._" He was speaking Russian, a dark, eerie set of words that fit in perfectly with the dark and eerie setting. And yet, they felt so much like comfort and home, it made a part of Natasha ache.

Natasha stopped to face him, unable to stop the worn, understanding smile on her face. She suddenly felt young again, curled up beside him after a long, brutal day of training, whispering secrets she had barely even allowed herself to know.

"_And for that, I'm glad. Here is much better than there, and I don't think I'd have gotten out, otherwise."_

It was nice, hearing him talk like he used to, and being able to whisper back. It was a rare, blissful taste of nostalgia, without any of the bitter patches of regret.

"Here," he said, gesturing down a small inlet. He spoke in English, and Natasha knew that the moment was over. She felt a little empty inside, realizing once again that she wouldn't be able to turn to him for the most basic and necessary sort of comfort she had ever felt. People had blocked that off a while ago, and time had only served to cement the barrier.

She shone the flashlight down the inlet, which turned out to be a tunnel that curved almost immediately. Then walked down it, and after a few twists, they were faced with a large set of double doors. They were once luxurious, she could tell from the ornate carvings on the face and two toned stain. Now, though, they had fallen subject to time, with carvings chipping off the face, and discoloration appearing in spots. Judging from the secrecy of the tunnel and the once glorious state of the doors, this was the entrance to a disused gin joint.

"Wait," James said, sliding the bag off his shoulder. "I need my arm."

"You're sure the robots won't be able to pick up on them down here?"

"Yeah. This place is as close to off the grid as you can be." She nodded, and carefully pulled out his arm. In a few seconds, she was helping push aside his layers to reveal the socket. She fed the end through the sleeve of his shirt, and slipped the arm into place. He grimaced as the arm reconnected, and the tunnel was filled with the soft, hurried whir of machinery starting up. Natasha watched as James readjusted to his arm, flexing and stretching it. He then dug around in his pockets for the gloves she had handed him, and slipped them over his mismatched fingers. Then James took hold of the door handles, and pulled them open.

Natasha blinked. It was a hobo camp. They filled the cavern, which proved to truly be from a gin joint decades ago. An old chandelier hung from the ceiling, though the whole place was light by flashlights, portable lamps, or even camp fires, in a few places. On one wall, there was a dusty counter, and a broken stage was pressed against the back of the cavern.

The people inside didn't seem to care about where they sat, as they clustered together in an exceptionally random pattern. After a moment's examination, she saw that they were gathered around something of interest, which varied from a music player, a fire, or what she assumed was food. She knew that there must be some deal of noise, but the acoustics of the hall made it sound like dull murmuring, occasionally broken by a laugh or shout. The place was also well ventilated, a slight breeze carrying away a good deal of the smoke and smell from the space.

"How do you find a place like this?" she murmured, unable to tear her eyes away from the sight before her. James gave a dark laugh.

"Well, when you don't have a home to go to, or anything serious to do, you have a _lot_ of time to wander."

Natasha couldn't help but quirk another smile. She wouldn't say that she was more _comfortable_ around James, but she now knew what to expect. What they both knew and the important parts of what they had done were now in the open. They could, for once, be honest with each other.


	3. chapter three

_AN This chapter is a bit longer than the last (they're steadily increasing, haha), but it's also the last one. However, there will be a sweet little epilogue after this, to help wrap things up :)_

* * *

He walked into the room, and Natasha followed. Now that she was among them, Natasha saw that there weren't as many people as she had initially thought. There were perhaps forty or fifty, eating, talking, sleeping, cleaning up. Some of them nodded at her, others avoided her gaze completely. Most were fairly well groomed, defying most of her preconceived notions about homeless people.

"James!" a girl called out, standing up from her chair. There were a few people around her, sitting or laying down, and they had a couple of tents set up. The girl waved them over, giving a big smile.

"Who's this?" she asked once they were close enough. She was younger than Natasha, with a pixie cut that had been bleached once, but now light brown was fighting its way back in. She, like most of the other inhabitants of the gin joint, had shadows under her eyes, and looked a little underfed, but other than that, she looked perfectly fine.

"Lia," Natasha said, giving a smile. James may have found it well and fine to use his real name, but _she _had had her face splattered all over the country for three months, so a little anonymity was appreciated. For his part, James didn't respond to her false name. He just offered the girl a smile, and instantly Natasha was in.

"Hi, Lia, I'm Allie. You been in Chicago long?"

"Not really," she said, giving a tired smile. "But I've been on the road for a while."

"Haven't we all?" Allie asked, giving a rueful smile. "You just meet James today?"

"Yeah, but we know each other from before."

"Oh, that's cool! I've always gotta make new friends, where ever I go. Awh, no, is your foot hurt?"

Natasha glanced down at her ankle. Allie must have noticed her limp as they walked.

"Oh, yeah."

"Part of the reason I brought her here."

"Well, that was absolutely decent of you. We don't have much medical stuff, but we do have a chair. When's the last time you ate, Lia?"

"Uhm, this morning?"

"_Oh _my gosh. Ray, get her some food, please."

Almost immediately, Natasha was seated by a lamp, a mug of stew in hand. James settled beside her, also decked out with food. He stared into the cup like it was something precious, and Natasha wondered just how he'd been surviving these last few months. Clearly, this camp was a special, secret place, so did that mean he'd been living on the street most of the time?

"The bathroom's over there," James said after a while, waving his hand behind him.

"Mm, they're unisex, as a warning," Ray added. He was a thin man, with a scruffy beard, curly brown hair, and an accent that just screamed he was from middle America. "If anything happens while you're in there, scream an' punch the person in the stomach. Someone will come an' back you up. There ain't been any problems before, but, y'know, always good to have a plan of action."

"What a relief," Natasha muttered into her mug. James shot her a smile, saying he clearly felt the same.

They settled down for the night, both Natasha and James kitted out with sleeping bags and extra blankets. The blankets were not for extra warmth, Natasha quickly realized, as the place was fairly insulated by the layers off rock around them, but for extra padding between them and the exceptionally hard ground. Some of the people around them had the luxury of air mattresses, but Natasha didn't complain. This beat curling up in the hollowed out apartment they had started in.

As they had gone about making their beds, Natasha had noticed James speaking to a boy. He was slight, and she didn't really see his face, but she guessed that he couldn't have been more than sixteen. She didn't hear what was said between them, but she did catch James handing over his extra clothing. Natasha turned back to her work, and did not comment.

Perhaps he wasn't as stone cold as she had thought.

As Natasha stared up at the rock ceiling, she had to make herself not worry about her team. They had been doing fine during the fight. She was the genius that had thought she should ride one of the robots. She knew they would have continued to fight the robots without her, and maybe even stop them, if they were lucky. All she really needed was to make her way back to them.

_And do something with the Winter Soldier I have in tow._

No doubt her team would take unkindly to the world's most lethal assassin sauntering up beside their leader. But what could she do with him? She also doubted that James really wanted to be left alone, either. He hadn't exactly dissuaded her from going with him. And he had said he wanted to keep her safe, because he wanted to hold on to a bit of familiarity. So clearly her just abandoning him, or turning him over to what was left of SHIELD was definitely not an option, if she ever wanted him to trust her again.

Before she could say any of this to him, though, James reached over and hooked his pinky around hers. Natasha looked at him, and found that he was watching her. She gave him and a look, and he approximated a shrug.

"_Why Lia?" _he whispered, and Natasha had to close her eyes as the sound of Russian floated back over her.

"_Short for Natalia,_" she answered. He gave her a look, a smile quirking on both their lips. She was still using fake names, but they somehow ended up being hers all along.

They were quiet for a few moments, listening to the sound of a bossa nova album and sleepy chatter from their neighbors. They took in each other's faces, absorbing the details and trying to pinpoint just what had changed since the last time they had been together like this.

"_What are you going to do when you stop the robots?"_

"_Move on."_

"_Is SHIELD back up, then?"_

"_Close enough."_

He nodded, eyes wandering to the ground.

"_Your side any better?"_

"_It's healing. In a couple of days, I should be well enough." _It was her turn to nod now, eyes wandering to his side. His healing wasn't as fast as Steve's but it was certainly impressive. A wound like that should have sent someone into shock, doubled them over from pain, and probably have killed them right away. Yet he was up and walking, helping her when he really should have just been concerned with himself.

"_How did it happen?"_

"_I saw you fall," _he began. "_I was a few blocks away, I was curious about the noise so I went closer, and I saw the fight, the robots, you. I got there just in time to catch you. The robot noticed me, and started attacking. I was fine, except I—I didn't—I'm not used to protecting people," _he explained, expression turning dark.

"_I carried you somewhere safe, fixed you up...but the robots found us, because of my arm. One of the robots tried to attack you, so I went to stop it. And then one of them knocked me into a broken section of wall."_

Natasha grimaced, just imaging the pain. He said it so casually, but James still had to finish fighting the robots, remove his arm, _and _carry her to a new location. She looked away from him, unsure how she was supposed to repay something like that.

Then again, he _had_ tried to kill her. Three times.

"_Thank you," _she whispered, adjusting her hand so that she was squeezing his hand, and not just entwining pinkies. He gave her an uncertain smile, and Natasha gave his hand a final squeeze before pulling her hand back. This wasn't something they had done before, but she liked it. It wasn't some sort of reckless intimacy, or a forced sort of affection, but just...plain comfort.

"_What are you going to do after this?" _she asked. James looked at her, noting her shift. She had given up the pretense of being casual and having only a basic interest in what he did. They were walking on level ground here, with both of them remembering what they both had gone through.

"_I don't know. Staying in Chicago isn't a good idea."_

"_But you still want to know more about...everything?"_

James gave her a look that quite clearly said '_no shit'_.

"_I think...you should go see Steve," _Natasha whispered. Immediately James stiffened, face closing off. "_He knows what you want, and I can tell you want to see him. He's looking for you."_

"_I can't go there. I'm not—he won't—it's not a good idea."_

"_You're important to him, James. He wants to know about you, how you're doing. You mean a lot to him."_

"_I _meant _a lot to him. He doesn't know who I am, now. Who I am now..._shouldn't_ mean a lot to him."_

"_He knows that you were once his friend. Despite how awful you think you are, he could do that again. Believe me, Steve Rogers could make friends with _anyone._"_

James pursed his lips, and rolled to face the ceiling. Natasha suppressed a sigh, and reached out to touch his shoulder. She didn't miss the way he flinched.

She knew she had hit the nail on the head. She had been much the same after she had joined SHIELD. Everything she had done, everything she had been trained for and forced to do, she had felt personally responsible, like she had been the one to really make the choices. And that was only with a couple of decades under her belt. For James, committing atrocities for half a century, for whatever organizations HYDRA felt like selling him to...it had to be so much worse. Even though she knew this, it was still exceptionally frustrating to see him actively avoid any real form of help.

"At least consider it," she said in English, then gave him Steve's address. "Come if you want to. I think he'll surprise you."

James didn't say anything to her after that. Natasha sighed through her nose, relieved to have addressed one problem, but completely dissatisfied with how it had turned out. James clearly wasn't going to go where he didn't want to go, and Steve made the top of that list. Steve also just so happened to also be the best person for him.

Natasha lay on her back for a while, but eventually, she sat up. She glanced over at James, who had closed his eyes at some point, but she wasn't sure if he was sleeping. She wrapped her arms around her knees, and looked at the rest of the cavern.

It was late, and at least half of the people around them had gone to bed. Natasha glanced around, trying to imagine the place in all of its glory and opulence back in the twenties. She smiled to herself as she pictured the band, the flappers, and the mobsters, all laughing and drinking themselves stupid. It was strange, she thought, how one place could go from filled with people with no cares because they had money, to filled with people with no cares because they had none.

"Lia," someone called, and she turned her head. It was Allie, who was all smiles and baggy sweatshirt. She crouched down beside Natasha, and shook her sleeves over her fingers.

"Can't sleep?"

"Not really."

"Yeah, this place takes some time to get used to," she said, casting a similar look around. Natasha smiled like, oh yeah, that was why she wasn't laying down, and not because it was only wise to sleep in shifts. "It's about midnight now, though, so definitely try to get some sleep! Everybody usually clears out of here by mid-morning, to catch the early crowd and get a jump on the begging, performing, pick pocketing, whatever's their thing."

Natasha nodded, mumbled something about not being into the whole relying on others for a living thing, which earned another empathetic nod from Allie.

"I totally get that. I really try to do as much as I can for myself, you know? Like, I don't mind help here and there, but I don't want to be laying on top of somebody to make it through."

There were a few moments of silence between them, in which Natasha decided she liked Allie. She was helpful and unassuming, and while she was the optimistic type, she still had a very frank view of the world.

"How'd you meet James?" Allie asked after a moment, eyes on her worn tennis shoes. Natasha sighed, and rested her hands on the ground behind her.

"I'm not sure, really. We just...walked into each other one day, and by the time we realized we liked each other enough to want to spend time around each other, we had been friends for a while."

"Well, I'm glad he has you. He's been here for a while, and even though he talks to people and gets on fine, he's kinda distant, you know? There's a part of him he doesn't like people to see, and that makes it hard for people to really get to know him."

"How long has he been here?"

"Uhm, 'bout a month? I don't think he was in Chicago much before that."

Natasha nodded, and Allie was called away by someone from another camp. She touched Natasha on the shoulder, and in that second, Natasha felt overwhelmed with the sense of welcome. It wasn't like she belonged there, or anything, but this was somewhere people were comfortable with her being there, no questions asked. She swallowed, wondering if this happened in other places, to other people, in other circumstances. Would Allie be as courteous if she knew that she was crouching beside the dread Black Widow?

"It's good to have you here, Lia," Allie said, then moved away.

James touched her on the leg a while later. They didn't say anything, simply switched positions so that he was the one sitting up, and she laying down. That was good enough for Natasha.

It was strange how the robots and the exceptionally hostile AI that programmed them had fallen from importance in Natasha's mind. They were the whole reason she had come to Chicago, after all. And yet, when James had stepped onto the scene, her focus completely shifted.

By the time she realized her mistake, the robots had decided to reassert themselves with a brutal sort of vengeance.

She and James sat in the cavern, preparing to leave. Natasha guessed it was late morning, as most of their neighbors had moved out, just as Allie had said. She was rather impressed with them, as they hadn't left much more than a couple vague bits of trash to prove they had ever been there. A few other people were still in the cavern with them, and she guessed that they weren't interested in panhandling.

James froze, head cocked like he heard something. Natasha watched him, wondering what he had noticed. She held her breath, shifting to her feet as he slowly moved his hand to settle on the gun he had tucked in his pants. She casually pulled out one of her knives, and James slipped the gloves off of his fingers.

Their eyes met, and a silent understanding came to both of them. Something was going to come through that door, and they needed to deal with it as quickly and mercilessly as possible. If Natasha hadn't had bigger things on her plate, she might have allowed herself half a moment of nostalgia, remembering the times when she had worked so well with James. Now, though, she was more worried about the defenseless homeless people behind them than bittersweet memories.

Then the doors burst open, and robots flooded through the opening. James and Natasha instantly split, trying to grab a better position, but these robots had learned from the others. As soon as they were within reach, they stunned both James and Natasha with a surge of electricity.

Natasha fell to the ground, hard, mind frantically trying to figure out what to do next. Had James been wrong in assuming they wouldn't be able to pick up on his arm? How much danger were the other people with them in? Would she and James be able to take the rest of the robots, once they recovered? Would they last that long? What did the man walking into the cavern have to do with it all?

"You know, I was _so_ worried that you would have disappeared by now," the man said, a slight southern drawl to his words. He strode towards them with big steps, a confident smile on his face. He looked normal enough, though he possessed rather expensive clothes, making the scene all the more surreal, with the robots zooming around him and the old gin joint as a backdrop. He glanced over James and Natasha, then waved at the other homeless people, whom Natasha assumed had been likewise stunned.

"After a run in like the one from yesterday, whoo, I know I would have hightailed it out of there. That's what I love about you new special types. You feel the need to stick around and _deal_ with things. You are _very_, very easy to predict."

The man walked closer like the world was lined up for his inspection, with his hands tucked neatly behind his back, and an expression of casual interest on his face.

"Frankly, I'm just glad you are tucked away here, nice and neat. You could have been in a park, in a busy alley way, and there'd be all those people to deal with. Personally, I don't care too _much_ about people, but I do appreciate the complications they pose. Imagine having to explain away a bunch of robots casually causing such a ruckus all over Chicago. One time, sure, fine, that's great, but two's the beginnings of a pattern and people are less likely to be so kind about ignoring things. I had a hard enough time getting the boss to listen when I said we didn't need to rampage the whole city, we just had to make enough of a fuss to get you out of the woodwork. And, despite all setbacks, that has worked out quite nicely."

Natasha grit her teeth, but she couldn't make herself move. Her muscles were spasming, and everything _hurt. _She managed to look around at James, and saw that he was in a likewise position. The expression on his face was pained and feral and frankly terrifying. The moment he got loose, there would be no mercy.

"And trust me, there were a lot of setbacks," he said, turning to Natasha. "Your team, for one. We were fine, until _you _swooped in. Your friends were _just _clever enough to destroy most of our fleet. These little guys you see here are the last ones, but we'll be able to make more, sure enough."

A thrill of pride went through Natasha, because she'd known her team could take care of themselves. Plus, anything that caused complications for this asshole was more than good enough for her.

"H-hey!" someone called, fear making their voice shake. Natasha groaned in her head, wishing that they would stay silent. Hadn't they paid attention to the speech about not caring about people?

Whispers had grown around the speaker, as the few other people there told them to stay quiet and not get involved. They were not to be deterred, though, as she heard them get to their feet.

"W-we we had a deal, Ivan. You're not supposed to hurt anyone!"

Natasha closed her eyes. _A deal._ They had been sold out. But who had known who they were? Both she and James had been exceptionally discreet. Would someone have had time to recognize her and turn her in to Ivan?

"Oh?" Ivan turned, an expression of surprise on his face. "A deal?"

"Yes. I tell you where the man with the metal arm is, and-and I get paid and no one gets hurt." Instantly, the air in the cavern turned hostile. The other homeless people became restless, hating that one of their own had betrayed another. The man speaking looked uncomfortable as it was, fidgeting throughout the whole exchange.

"_What_?" James suddenly snarled, in control of himself to prop himself up on one arm and speak. "How could you—this was supposed to be a _safe place!"_

The homeless man flinched, and looked away from James. He flinched again when another robot shocked James, making him jerk and seize. Ivan ignored both of their responses.

"Now, now, Soldier, I don't really need a domestic right here when I'm trying to do business. I frankly do not care about what it is you got going on in the people way of things, but I sure as hell am interested in that spiffy little arm a yours. When I and my boss heard about it, oh, we nearly wet ourselves with excitement. Well, I did, he didn't, on account of him just being an AI."

Natasha blinked, and forced herself to straighten somewhat.

"You are working for a _computer program?_"

"A right clever one. And I wouldn't be too high and mighty, 'cause I know all a those people _you've _worked for, and they weren't too nice. See, I'm into the _possibilities_ technology can provide. Lately, you've had all sorts, most notably Iron Man, who is using technology in a very limited way, impressive though it is. But now, now we've got something _real special, _robotics that are practically living on their own," he said, gesturing at James.

"That is all sorts of exciting, and I want to see where that goes. If that means I have to funnel a few million into a pet project, or take a few orders from something that is quite frankly _smarter _than me, well, that's just fine, too. But enough of the little stuff. You, c'mere." Ivan gestured, and the man talking hurriedly moved forward. He edged past the robots and studiously avoided the eyes of everyone around him.

The man paused by Ivan, who was pulling something out of his pocket. The man stood tense, clearly unsure if he was about to be paid or shot in the chest. But Ivan pulled out a stack of bills as promised, crisp and perfect. He handed them off to the man, and instantly he was out the door, casting a few nervous backward glances.

"Anybody else who wants to get out can get out. Don't need a bunch a bodies to make a bigger mess."

To their everlasting credit, not one person moved.

"Well, okay. Don't say there wasn't a warning. This next bit's gonna get a little _gruesome._"

Ivan gestured some of the robots towards James, and suddenly they were descending on him, pinning his limbs. He struggled weakly, but his muscles still refused to respond. Natasha bided her time, trying to think how she was supposed to get over there to help him. There were about a dozen of the robots, each full capable of stunning and maiming everyone there. She had no idea what sort of a threat Ivan posed, or what weapons he had on his person. Both she and James still couldn't really move, and she had a horrible feeling that Ivan was the kind of person willing to use the defenseless as insurance.

She grit her teeth as one of the robots opened a compartment on its underbelly to reveal a wicked looking saw. James' whole body tensed as it started up, an obnoxious whine that grated against her very bones. A few of the hostages gasped and shifted, but the robots guarding them deterred any sort of reckless action.

Between her and James, they had a gun, several knives, a couple flashbangs, and a few other bits and pieces. If either one of them had been at full form, it would have been fine, but now...they could get the job done, but Natasha didn't really like the looks of the collateral.

"Now, from what we've been able to find, Soldier, your arm is going to be right tricky to pull off. So, it's going to take a bit of sawing and pulling and cutting, and there maybe sorta will be a chance of you bleeding out and maybe going into shock, because, hey, why hack up a frankly beautiful piece of robotics when there's a bit of muscle to go through?"

James nailed Ivan with a filthy look, and Natasha realized that if she was going to make a move, it would have to be now. She forced herself up, clenching her teeth and trying not to focus on how her body seemed content to scream at her and work in all of the wrong ways. Natasha jolted to her feet, yanking out one of her knives. She flung herself at the nearest robot, wrapping her arms around its round frame. With a snarl, she sank her knife into the front lens, and tucked the whole thing underneath her as she fell. The air was knocked out of her lungs, and she was pretty sure her sternum wouldn't be happy for a few days, but the knife had been forced into the robot's inner workings, effectively destroying it.

Natasha yanked out her knife to face the other robots that had begun swooping towards her, but her distraction was enough of an opening. Robots focused on her as the main threat, and some of the braver hostages made a bid for freedom. A few bolted for the exit, but some attacked the robots as Natasha had. People leaped on the robots, which didn't have time to compensate for the sudden extra weight before crashing to the stone beneath. Rocks were thrown, breaking lenses and damaging hulls, and she noticed a few people had even procured proper weapons.

She grabbed at one of the robot's arms, managing to jerk it around into another's body. She flinched as the electricity at the end of the arm crackled through the other robot, the rampant energy making the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

A robot rammed into Natasha's side, the electrical arm having been ripped off at some point. She fell to the ground, grunting as her injured ankle jarred against the stone floor. Two robots flew closer, their arms already sparking. She tried to scramble away, or to her feet, but her abused body was still refusing to move properly.

"Natasha!" James shouted, making her turn just in time to see him sliding the gun at her. She grabbed it up from the ground, swinging it up and sending a bullet through each robot. The gunshots felt like thunder in the cavern, adding to the cacophony of screams, robots breaking, and people being shocked. The robots she had shot fell to her feet, their movement reduced to twitching.

Natasha dragged herself to her knees, emptying the rest of the clip into the thinning horde of robots. She shakily got to her feet, searching for James. When he had given her the gun, he had barely been sitting. He had a knife on him, but she didn't like his odds against numerous flying robots while seriously injured.

Natasha swung herself around, using the carcass of a robot to bludgeon others from the air. She caught sight of James through the chaos, and attempted to move towards him, but he was already moving.

It was a rather stunning display of brutality and raw physicality. One moment, James was standing still, accessing the situation, and the next, he was launching himself forward. Natasha caught only a glimpse of it, as she tried to defend herself, but that's all it took. His metal hand tore through robots with an alarming ease, ripping out wiring and discarding electronic corpses with a breathtaking speed. She glanced away to ram a robot into the ground, then realized that he was carving out a path, that he had a goal. He was heading towards Ivan. In one motion, James had his hand clenched around the man's neck, spun his body around Ivan's, and then his neck was broken.

Ivan dropped with a small, pathetic thump. Natasha could see that his throat had caved in from James' inhuman grip, and that Ivan's expression was that of complete surprise. James stood over him, a ruthless and vicious immortal, completely unimpressed by the destruction around him. His hair had fallen out of its loose pony tail, and as he looked down at Ivan, he casually shook some of the oil and blood off of his fingers, the metal shining in an almost demonic way.

He looked at Natasha, expression dark. They didn't say anything, because there wasn't much to say. There was something tortured in his face, and she knew it had to do with the fact that despite everything, he could not change the fact that he was a weapon for brutality and murder.

They watched each other for a long pause, and then Natasha moved closer to James.

"How did you move so soon after being shocked?"

"I made myself. Once I got going it wasn't too hard. My arm wasn't as affected, so I focused on that to get me up." Natasha raised an eyebrow, and figured that sometimes, that thing really came in handy.

A vague cheer came up from the crowd behind them, making both of them turn. The rest of the robots had been destroyed, thanks to the efforts of the homeless people. A few of them were on the ground, suffering from the excess electricity running through them, but they would be up soon enough. Now that they had beaten the robots, though, their attention had fallen back to Natasha and James. A few stares had turned hostile, but most were awed, with more than a few tempered with worry.

They didn't say anything. They just stood staring at each other for a few long moments, then someone nodded at her. Natasha looked at them for a second longer, and then bent over to pick up their bag. James had already turned around and was making for the door, not wanting to linger any longer than he had to.

The two of them didn't speak as they wound their way back up through the tunnels. As they walked, Natasha began to feel all of her injuries sparking back to life. James clearly felt the same, as their pace slowed to something between a saunter and a shuffle.

When they finally reached the floor of the restaurant, Natasha paused by the door, while James continued on through.

"Where are you going now?" she asked. He shrugged and stopped, but didn't turn around.

"Somewhere else. Can't stay in Chicago, especially not now."

"If you still want—"

"_No, _Natasha."

She fell silent, and nodded. Natasha walked through the door, hands in her pockets. She wanted stay with him, to help him in any way she could, but he was determined to trudge on alone, suffering and unable to help himself. It hurt, but it was so _obvious _that James wanted to move on, from this place, from this moment in time, from this version of him, from her.

She let out a soft sigh, thinking that there wasn't really anything else she could do.

"I need to get back to my team. If you're ever back east...come find me." _Or Steve,_ she thought, and she was pretty sure James heard it.

James nodded, but he didn't look around. She noticed that he still had some remnants of oil on his fingers.

Natasha took a breath, and started walking again. As she passed him, she set her hand on his shoulder, just as Allie had done to her. She hoped that the same feeling of care and companionship flowed through her fingers and into him, and that he understood that he always had a place with her. He wasn't _her_ James, not anymore, but he was still a person she wanted to know, no matter what.


	4. epilogue

_AN This is it, this is the end! Thank you so much to everyone at TBB who helped me work this out, and thank you all for reading it! I have had tons of fun writing about Natasha and Bucky, and I hope I can do it again some time :)_

* * *

"Okay, okay so I'm telling you, we had _no idea_ until, like, a week after the whole thing went down. We were doing some long term recon in the middle of freaking Greenland, and by the time we poked our heads out, the whole place was ass up and apparently everyone was a traitor."

"Greenland?" Steve asked, sitting down at the table with a soda in hand. Sam and Clint had opted for the six pack Sam had brought, and were steadily working through it, as the only people that were able or willing to get drunk. "Why there, what's in Greenland?"

"That's what I'm telling you!" Clint said emphatically, voice half a laugh. "_Nothing's _in freaking Greenland! Just ice and sea water and some annoying ass birds!"

Sam and Steve rolled around in their chairs, dying from laughter. Natasha laughed as well, but more because off their ridiculous reaction than because of Clint's story. They hadn't felt the immense dread and guilt when endangering most all of their allies, the way she had. Nor had they lived with their heart in their mouth for the months it took for Clint to send her a signal, showing he was alive.

"And so I look at my partner, Ren, and he looks at me, and he just said, in that stupid, proper British accent of his, 'Well, it looks like the shit has definitely hit the fan, my friend', and all I can think to say is 'Yup', and we just stand there for a few seconds, staring at each other as we listen to the radio! We're in some little hut outside of Sassivik-"

"Savissivik."

"Shit, I was there for three months, and I can't even say it, that's just how done I am with this thing, _Savissivik_, and we've got maybe a couple of guns, two day's rations, and a snow mobile between us, and we're both just lookin' at each other, trying to figure out what to do next. And Ren just looks at me, an' I look at him, and he says 'So, Clint, are you a bloody traitor?', and I say 'No. Are _you_ a traitor?', and he's like 'Nope', and that was it! I hear people are killin' each other, knockin' each other out of buildings, and here I was, settling the whole HYDRA thing in about two seconds with my partner, because we had no time for anything, because we were in _fucking Greenland,_ trying not to freeze our asses off."

"And this was a week after it all happened?" Sam asked, once he had his laughter under control. He was still giggling over his drink, though he looked like he was on the verge of busting up again (it had been six months, and Natasha was still fairly certain that at least half of his ridiculous grin was over the fact that he was having drinks with half of the Avengers, rather than amusement over Clint's story). Clint nodded, taking a drink from his bottle. "And it took you three months to get back. What happened in between that?"

"We were trying not to get our asses kicked by everyone else out there! We were free agents, roving where ever we wanted in the eyes of _way_ too many people, plus we had to go through the whole 'Are you good? Okay. Are you _really _good, or just HYDRA?' thing with _everyone. _I tell ya, you guys, you had the easy part," Clint said, waving his finger between the three of them. Sam and Steve tried to swallow the rest of their chuckles, while Natasha snorted into her drink, because, _honestly, _all three of them were idiots.

Sam stood up to go grab the bag of peanut butter stuffed pretzels left on the kitchen counter (the potato chips and Cheetos they had all strong armed Steve into buying had instantly been demolished, because apparently he didn't believe in That Empty Crunch That Is Rightly Called Junk Food). A knock sounded at the door, which only Natasha heard, as Sam and Steve were yet again cackling over Clint was detailing his further misadventures, which had now migrated into Bratislava.

"Someone's at your door," Natasha told Steve, and he nodded, pushing himself up out of his chair.

"Relax, man, I got it," Sam said, waving Steve back down as he headed towards the door.

"—and I'm telling ya, _no idea _what this thing is, so Ren just takes it, and—"

Natasha turned around when Sam gave a soft, slightly strangled "_Oh_". He paused, then said "Uhm, Cap, I think you better handle this one," in a fairly strained voice, before turning around and staring at Natasha with huge eyes.

James stood in the doorway, looking tired and crumpled and exceptionally nervous, fingers twitching at his sides. Natasha wasn't sure if he was about ready to bolt, punch his way through a wall, or throw Sam bodily out of the way to see Steve, but she could tell he was on the verge of doing something very drastic. He found her eyes, and she held him as she slowly stood up and turned to face him. As he looked into her steady gaze, James' expression lost a bit of that scared animal quality. She raised her hands by her waist, palms facing him as she gave a '_calm down' _sort of motion. He gave the tiniest nod, suddenly an uncertain child in the face of seeing his once best friend.

She could feel Steve staring at her, confused and suddenly worried at both her and Sam's reactions. Clint was also on alert, as he too slowly stood up. Steve turned the corner and finally came into view of the door. He stopped dead in front of Natasha, but she could still see James' eyes flicker from her, and then settle on Steve's face.

"Hey, Steve," he practically whispered, and Steve gave a slight, uncertain nod.

"Bucky," Steve breathed, and it sounded for all the world like a dying man getting his last wish.

She let out a breath, and allowed herself a worn, satisfied smile. This was a start.


End file.
